WHEN Lupus has wrought hard all day, And the declining Sun, By stooping to embrace the sea, Tells him the Day's nigh done; Then to his young wife home he hies With his sore labour sped, Who bids him welcome home, and cries, Pray, Husband, come to bed. Thanks, Wife, quoth he, but I were blest, Would'st thou once call me to my rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTLEY: THE GHOST by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE JOLLY NOSE by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 3 by GEORGE BARKER THE CASTLE RUINS by WILLIAM BARNES PATERNITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |